ntally he even went
so far as to weigh her and would have gambled that she would not have
tipped a scale five pounds one way or the other from a hundred and
twenty. Some time he might have seen the kind of violet-blue that was
in her eyes, but he could not remember it. She was lost--utterly lost
at this far-end of the earth. She was no more a part of it than a crepe
de chine ball dress or a bit of rose china. And there she was, sitting
opposite him, a bewitching mystery for him to solve. And she WANTED to
be solved! He could see it in her eyes, and in the little beating throb
at her throat. She was fighting, with him, to find a way; a way to tell
him who she was, and why she was here, and what he must do for her.

Suddenly he thought of the golden snare. That, after all, he believed
to be the real key to the mystery. He rose quickly from the table and
drew the girl to the window. At the far end of the corral they could
see Bram tossing chunks of meat to the horde of beasts that surrounded
him. In a moment or two he had the satisfaction of seeing that his
companion understood that he was directing her attention to the
wolf-man and not the pack. Then he began unbraiding her hair. His
fingers thrilled at the silken touch of it. He felt his face flushing
hot under his beard, and he knew that her eyes were on him wonderingly.
A small strand he divided into three parts and began weaving into a
silken thread only a little larger than the wolf-man's snare. From, the
woven tress he pointed to Bram and in an instant her face lighted up
with understanding.

She answered him in pantomime. Either she or Bram had cut the tress
from her head that had gone into the making of the golden snare. And
not only one tress, but several. There had been a number of golden
snares. She bowed her head and showed him where strands as large as her
little finger had been clipped in several places.

Philip almost groaned. She was telling him nothing new, except that
there had been many snares instead of one.

He was on the point of speech when the look in her face held him
silent. Her eyes glowed with a sudden excitement--a wild inspiration.
She held out her hands until they nearly touched his breast.

"Philip Raine--Amerika!" she cried.

Then, pressing her hands to her own breast, she added eagerly:

"Celie Armin--Danmark!"

"Denmark!" exclaimed Philip. "Is that it, little girl? You're from
Denmark? Denmark!"

She nodded.

"Kobenhavn--Dan